Bucky?
by CallMeStranger
Summary: He's with him until the end of the line...


**Bucky?**

I pace the white tiled floor restlessly as people come and go, none of them seeing me. None of them caring. But it's alright, because I don't care what they're doing here either. I came here as soon as I was told. _The very moment_. All I had to do was wait.

I was never very good at waiting. I couldn't just sit in the plastic chair like that while he was mere rooms away from me. I stopped pacing. Just the mere thought... _He's here_. It's enough to send chills up my spine. I thought he was dead. I _saw_ him die. But then again, I saw him in that street. I saw him in that hellicarrier explosion too, if it was even truly him anymore.

I grit my teeth and clench my fists. _What the hell did they do to him? _I resume pacing, because if I stay standing like that much longer I might just have an anxiety attack. The only way to cope with this is to keep moving. Moving is key.

The waiting room door opens, and I look up expectantly, only to find the backs of some random strangers as they walk out. Now I am alone. I swallow and continue pacing. I can make it through this. It doesn't matter how long I stay, as long as I can _s__ee _him. It's been so long, and I've searched so hard. I can't bring myself up to turn my back on him now. No, I'm with him until the end of the line.

That's how it's always worked.

I'm not sure how long I'm walking, or how long the camera in the corner has been watching me, judging me psychotic as well. If I keep this up, they might send someone down here to lock me up along with the others. I can't let them do that, or I'll never get to see him again.

As soon as I sit, the door creaks open and a nurse sticks his head through the opening. "Mr Rogers," he calls, eyes landing on me since I am technically the only one in here.

My breath hitches. _Finally..._ I nod and stand again, my knees a little shaky as I follow him down twisted, barren, hallways and corridors. It's only a matter of time before we reach his door. The nurse taps his pen on his clipboard. "Room 37?"

I nod slowly. "Y-yeah. This is it."

He stares at the door for a moment as if to confirm it by reading the numbers sketched in it, then clears his throat. "Well, I'll leave you to it then." He decides.

I can't even nod, too memorized by the idea of what could be behind this door to listen to him fully. But I assume he understands; this is his job. He must see this and worse everyday. Although I doubt the situations would be very similar. I look over my shoulder and he's gone before I can say anything.

Slowly, I turn my head around to stare at the numbers in engraved in the door again, shining silver. "37" For a while, I just stare, then I trace it with the edge of my fingertips, hoping that it wouldn't slip out from under me like everything else had done. I bite my lip and draw my hand away.

For the first time in what seems like years, I don't know what to do. Something like this can't just be confronted in such a simple manner and end as simply as that. If I mess this up... Then there is no second chance. I have to make the best of this, for the both of us.

With one last intake of breath, I reach out and I knock. Once, twice, three times. The sound echoes through the empty abyss of white they called an institution and I flinch, knowing that there must be some noise on the other side to indicate his existence. Something... Anything...

There is no noise. Not a single sound. It's like I'm looking for something that isn't there. But he has to be... They wouldn't lie about this. Never this.

I lean forward and wrap my hand around the doorknob, waiting another few minutes before knocking with my other hand again. "Can I come in?" I call quietly, but I know he can hear me.

There is no response. I run my free hand through my hair, controlling myself. _He is in there. You know he's in there. Why wouldn't he be?_

There was only one way to find out. Twisting the doorknob from one side to the other, I waited for any sign of objection. Again, nothing. There's a click, and I stop. "I'm going to open the door now..." I pause and try to think of anything else I could say. "I won't hurt you okay? I just want to talk to you. Do you want to talk?"

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

I'm not expecting an answer, and I don't get one. Instead, I take my chances, and I open the door, halfway at first, and then fully. There he sits off to the side of the room, hunched over the edge of the hospital bed. A form of black staining white. I knew he would be here, I just knew it. He doesn't look at me, but keeps staring at the wall. Maybe it wouldn't look so crazy if there was something there. But there wasn't.

He looks different then when I last saw him. He was dressed in armor and there was a black stripe lining his eyes, like a makeshift mask, only permanent. It's gone now, revealing his real eyes. Blue as ever before, if not deeper. His hair is still longer, and his facial expression is twisted into a scowl that never seems to leave him. Now he's dressed in what appears to be sweatpants, but darker and an oversized black T-shirt. He must have asked for them.

But then with him, there is no way to subtly ask a question. I learned that the moment he took off his disguise. He doesn't ask, he just goes for it, and I can't help but wonder what all sorts of hell he must of been raising here for the past two days.

I blink a few times. He doesn't move. It shocks me how much I'm trying to assess him, as if we had never met. Like he didn't have any of the same opinions or motives of the past. But then again, he really doesn't, does he? It's all so confusing, and I just don't want to think about it.

"I uh, brought you something." I claim, holding up the tape recorder I had brought. As far as I could tell, he wasn't properly re introduced to music yet, which really was a shame. He liked music as much as I did. But then, I didn't want to freak him out or start anything so I brought something he might recognize. You can never be sure about it so its better to prepare yourself.

"I thought you might like it..." I continue, setting it down on the desk to the side of the door. More of a ledge than a desk really. "James Barnes...?"

He looks up at this and I shift returning his gaze. My entire focus is on him, if he says anything I will listen and interpret any meaning I possibly can. _Just say something..._

He looks down at the last second, as if he never even acknowledged me at all. I try it again, by saying his name. This time, he flinches, but nothing more than that. I obviously didn't want to see what would happen if I kept this up, so I sighed to myself and cautiously pull up a chair across from him. His eyes were now aligned with mine, and I wonder if he is actually looking at me. If he can... See anything. _Please look at me. Can you see me? Do you remember?_

From this position, I can see the other half of him more clearly. The part of him that he had lost forever. I swallow. The metal arm, a red star painted on the shoulder. Right now it's immobile, but I can only imagine what noises it makes whenever he makes small movements. It's just another part of him that he'll never get back, and I blame myself for this. It always was my fault; just because he wasn't dead didn't make it any better. When I look back up again, his eyes follow mine, flickering down to his arm and back to me again, to let me know he saw what I was staring at. His eyes held a sort of silent question for only a moment, before returning to their cold, harsh glare. At least I knew I had his attention.

"So uh..." There were so many things I wanted to ask him. To tell him, to apologize for. But I knew what I was limited to, and it wasn't much. What does one say to their long lost dead friend that just so happens to be alive... And brainwashed?

"I hear that they might be able to help you with the whole memory thing. Keep you in here until you're stabilized you know, and then it shouldn't be long until they let you out." I start, staring at my lap. It seemed like a good thing to begin with, seeing as he might be more than a little confused. I sure as hell was.

He stares back at me when I look up, blinks a few times, then tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. "They...?" He husks out, and I'm surprised by the sound of his voice. So familiar, so deep, and it's just been so long since the last time I've heard that voice. I almost want to cry.

"Yeah, yeah, the umm, Shield I guess. Well, not really shield anymore... More like a few people I know and their associates now. They're good people, you can trust them to look after you properly."

He growls at that, but nothing more. I want a reaction out of him so badly, something more. Something to show me that he's still here. He's right in front of me, but there's no way to actually prove its him anymore. I take a breath before blurting;

"Do you remember anything? Is there something you know about anything, that could help you, or... Or just _anything _at all? What do you know about?"

I immediately feel bad for rushing so fast, but he doesn't show any sign of surprise. He must know something that I don't, something that I don't understand because he's taking this too well. It's not normal.

There's a few moment of silence before he speaks again, and I'm lucky I even get that much. "Cold." He murmurs bitterly. "Needles, scissors.." He trails off, eyes widening. He mutters one last word before his eyes open completely "Falling." He stays like this for a while before shaking his head and staring back at me. So easy to forget.

I must be patient. I must not upset him. I can't do anything to mess this up, but it feels like we're barely making any progress. This is the only emotion besides pure hatred that I've been able to coax out of him, and it's fear of all things.

I don't know how much time we have left, so we have to move on from this. I nod warily, and bite my lip. A new habit that I had picked up supposedly. "Well, you've missed... _a lot_, I guess, if you've really been locked up all this time. I have this journal that I have, for things that I should look into. You can take a look at that sometime if you want..." I suggest, rubbing the back of my neck.

He makes small sound, although I don't know what it could mean. He just keeps looking through me like before, so I can't really determine any certain thoughts here. "Maybe after you get out, I could show you some things? The food here is much better, I have to admit..."

_Come on, lets go and play_

My gaze lands on the floor again, near his boots. They don't have any laces for the time being, but it's just the small, offhand possessions that make him seem more... alive. I don't know how to say it, it just seems more him in a way. Like he might be hanging on to one last shred of himself, or maybe he's just too far gone to even care enough to take them off. I'll never know.

"It's been a long time since we've done anything as friends." I pause and laugh somewhat hopelessly. "A long, long time."

_I never see you anymore_

He blinks again. "I know a few good bars, some parks, lots of places." I continue, and it's probably a bad idea, because he clenches his jaw.

"I'm not stupid. I don't need your help." He states in that dark undertone of his.

"I don't think you're stupid, I, I know you're not. I just thought, since you'll be better soon. I'm talking about- about later on you know. Right now, I just needed to, I don't know." I shake my head. "Just _see _you I guess. I mean, you're _here_. Do you even realize what that means?"

_Come out the door_

He shifts his arm to the side and I notice the beginning line of stitches at his shoulder. He cocks his head and I realize that this is his answer. He knows what it means. He thinks he knows anyway. With one simple movement, he suggests that this is what being alive means. Wether he had a past or not, this is what he is now. I shouldn't try to derive something so deep from a little movement, but I have a feeling that's what he means. I don't like it. He makes that look again, like he's staring straight through me.

"Do you? Hey, come on, please, look at me." I feel my throat constrict and I have to stop, but I don't. I won't. "Bucky..." I try, sounding more desperate than I want to, leaning forward to at least catch his attention.

He jumps back, growling at my hand. He pushes himself against the wall and shoots me a death glare. "That's not my name."

_It's like you've gone away_

I lean back again, dropping my hand. I wanted a reaction. I got one. "That's not, well, no, you'll remember." My voice cracks. "It's more of a nickname really. You'll remember, you'll know." I whisper more to myself than to him. He doesn't move an inch, his eyes locked on every move I make. Here, he is vulnerable. He might have a metal arm, but who's to say that the camera in the corner isn't watching what he does and would catch him? Would send the doctors back with their needles and pills? I hate keeping him here, in a place like this, but there's nothing else I can do. Beggars can't be choosers.

"I promise you, that when this is all over, you'll remember everything, and we can try to fix this." I tap my foot a few times out of habit, stopping when his eyes follow each tap. They flick back up to my face again, and for a moment, I hope that he really is listening to what I'm saying. That he believes what I tell him. Because its true, and I honestly do mean it.

"You always were the hard working type... Always helping someone one way or another, most of the time saving my sorry ass." I laugh weakly. "You probably don't remember, but it happened all the time. You always got through it all, and a lot of people admired you for that. We went through a lot of crap, but we managed." I explain, giving him something to work with. Something for him to know about me. Something to help him.

_We used to be best buddies_

He shakes his head. "I'm suppose to believe this bullshit? You obviously don't need any saving. That never happened." He replies, sizing me up.

_But now we're not_

I stop, remind myself that he doesn't remember much, and take a breath. "You wouldn't remember it, I told you that. Maybe you will sometime, but not right now." He growls again. "Just,-just forget it. For now anyway." I shrug, noticing for the first time how interesting my hands looked.

I look up and he turns his head to the side, stubbornly refusing to look at me anymore. "Hey, don't just ignore me. The last time we met you tried to kill me, so you must at least know what you were trying to do... Why you... Saved me afterwards. And don't just growl about it, I know it was you. You wouldn't drag me out of the water if you didn't have a- some sort of reason. A motive or something?"

_I wish you would tell me why..._

He's still staring off to the side when he speaks very quietly, but I can still hear him. "I don't know you."

"You do-"

"I DON'T!" He screams, then turns to me while punching the wall at the same time. "Shut up! I don't know you, I've never known you! I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" He yells, then closes his mouth, seething while he watches for my reaction.

My hands are trembling. That is the only thing I can register right now because I don't want to think about anything else. I don't want to think about what he said. I don't want to yell back, or break down, or anything. I just wanted answers.

Well now I had them.

"Y-you know what? Why don't we test out the- the thing I brought you?" _It has a name, a name... What the hell is it?_

"The, the tape recorder, yeah. That. What kind if gift would that be without a tape huh?" I ask, producing a tape from my pocket. Bucky looks at it briefly before arching his brow in a sort of question.

I toss it between my hands a few times, running my thumb over the faded title on it. I smile knowingly, thinking back to the first time we heard this song. Such a long time ago... "You might like this song actually."

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

"Well, it's two-sided, so you can listen to either one. But this ones pretty good." I walk over to the tape recorder, feeling his eyes burning into my back as I pop in the tape.

_It doesn't have to be a snowman..._

I let my fingers hover over the play button for a few seconds before finally pressing down. The catchy sound of an old tune filled the air, and I turned around to face him as it continued, his face betraying a calculating expression.

"Cool right?" I mutter. For a minute, I think he won't say anything, or maybe he just doesn't like it, but then his eyes widen and his breathing quickens. His arms twitch as his eyes glaze over, breathing faster and faster.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?"

He's breathing way to fast and it's only getting more ragged by the second. Is he having some sort of attack or something? What's going on with him?

"Hey, what's wr-"

He jumps up suddenly, his eyes snapping open. In three quick steps he's directly in front of me, and I take a few steps back, not able to help it.

But he doesn't even look at me. Instead, he looks past me, grabs the tape recorder, and crushes it with his metal fist. His breathing is calmer once the music stops, and I wonder what was wrong with it. He stands there, the remains of the device at his feet, just breathing, his eyes closed.

"Bucky..."

"Get out."

_What? _"Why did you, why-" I stutter.

"I said, GET OUT. JUST LEAVE! "

He looks up at me, dead serious. "NOW!"

I don't know what else to do, so I leave. I inch around him and into the doorway. He throws a piece of the recorder at me and I take another step back, confusion plain on my face. He slams the door.

I stand there, dumbfounded. Why did he kick me out? What did I do? I take another few steps back as a nurse rushes by, straight into the room and giving me an apologetic look.

"Can't explain right now, he needs time, just... You can wait somewhere else if you'd like." And she's gone into the depths of his room.

I clench my fists to fight back the urge to run right back in there. The message is clear. He doesn't want to see me. He doesn't even know who I am anymore. It's almost funny how I don't know him anymore either.

With one last glance, I leave. It's forced, and hard to do. One step after another, reminding myself that I'm not really leaving him, no matter how much it feels like that.

_Ok, bye..._

* * *

I have to try again. I messed up somehow, I know this. The doctors rushed passed me as I made my way back to the cursed waiting room. In reality, I should of been relieved, knowing that help was on the way for him. That they wouldn't hurt them. But all I felt was guilt and a little nauseous, because Bucky, no- James, he didn't know that. He would fight, and then what would happen when he couldn't fight any longer? What would he do? What would he feel? Hopeless was a sure thing, and it was all my fault.

When the nurse came back he explained to me how the music must of provoked a flash back, either good or bad it didn't matter. He wasn't quite ready for that. As he explained this I couldn't help but stare at the floor, my fears confirmed in the worst way. If I tried to help it would only hurt him. That, I couldn't even handle.

I was only half listening to him, catching bits and pieces as he went along about his condition. How he was getting better, and to have Hope. All the usual things that you're told when things are not going the way they're planned to.

When hope is the only thing that keeps you going until the end.

I don't want to hear these things. If anything, it should have been Bucky hearing these things about me! All those years ago when I constantly injured myself or picked fights ending with my blood on the pavement, it should have been him!

He stood. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers, but I think it'd be best if you left now. Come back in a week or two, sort things o-"

"No," I rose instantly, what he was suggesting finally making its way through my thick skull. "I'm not leaving for anything. I don't care if I have to move in, it's not happening."

There is a long complicated pause where he gives me the look. The sympathy. I hate him so much, I really do. "Alright, I'll go discuss the matter with the head of officials, see what can be arranged." He relented, giving me one last look over his shoulder.

If Bucky were here he probably would of stuck his tongue out at him, or maybe punched him. I didn't have the strength to, but looking back, I really wished I would have anyway.

Hours pass, or days; time doesn't affect me as much as it did before, and it's agreed upon that I may stay as a patients relative. They give me a spare room with a bed and a dresser, along with a window and curtains to cover it up. Everything is unbelievably white, and I have to blink a few times every time I enter there.

Within my first week in the building, I decide to stay away from that room. I'm pretty sure it's been a week, and if it has then I have been given permission to talk to him. If he lets me that is. Walking through the halls, I realize that I don't care if I have permission or not.

Just like him.

Once again I'm standing outside the door, and I have my whole speech prepared. When I reach out to feel the round brass knob under my fingers, I twist. It doesn't budge.

It's locked.

And just like that, my whole plan is thrown out the window. Gone. Forgotten like so many others that must of died behind this door and just that demented thought of mine is enough to nearly set me off again.

I knock. "James? It's me again. Steve. Let me in."

There's no noise. No sound. No lock click to signal that the door was open. Nothing at all. I should have known, I should have known he wouldn't see me again. That he would lock the door if he had the chance. Bucky didn't have to see me, and he certainly didn't want to either. So what gave me the right to even order him to do so? Force him to do something he doesn't want to?

But that isn't going to make me give up. I have to try harder. "Fine, I'll just talk to you through the door. Won't make much of a difference."

I stand straighter and forbid myself to let my voice waver. "The doctor says you've made some real progress since your first day here. That's good to know really. I hope you can remember anything helpful by now." No response.

I wait before forging on. "I came down here again, to let you know my offer still stands. Well, I've never left to be honest. But you know... Anyway, I've been told that today was going to be pretty nice out; warmer that usual, and they've agreed that you could go out with an escort if you'd like..."

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

I thought for sure that last line would draw him out, if not at least a reaction. Even if it meant he would try to escape, at least he would show some interest in even trying to do anything. Of course, I'm proven wrong yet again.

"I mean, they always have the weather station on, and if its correct then it's suppose to be pretty warm today, in contrast to all these bitter days we've been having," Now I'm starting to feel foolish; if anyone walking by saw me, they'd see a man standing in an empty hall, talking to a door. Still, I don't care.

"There's barely any wind. Perfect weather for biking, like we used to. I know that there's a bike shop not to far from here where we could get you a nice motorbike for rent. Ride around for a bit, take it all in."

_Or ride our bikes around the halls?_

I'm basically handing him an escape route on a silver platter, but he doesn't want it. I stand there and make idle jokes about the world today, and try to start a conversation going on something.

But there's only so much you can say in a one sided conversation. Not much at all if there's nothing to talk about left. I might of stood there for hours, listing random thoughts about random things, suggesting things for us to do together, asking him questions. The result hasn't changed at all, and I finally take the hint, leaving the door and everything behind it to take its course.

I wouldn't leave the hospital altogether though, that would mark a deep sense of betrayal written in my very soul for the rest of my life. Over reacting? No. It's the cold hard truth, and I'm one hundred percent confident that's exactly how I would feel. For weeks it's the same routine, offering my presence to someone who I'm not even sure exists anymore. If anyone mentions anything about me behind my back it goes unnoticed. In fact, this hospital is pretty much empty. It's very secluded. Very quite. Soon, the only thing that can replace my anxiety is boredom.

So every now and then I find myself in a new room, a different wing, stumbling from room to room in all it's undisturbed glory. Sometimes I wonder what these rooms would ever be used for; they look like they've never even been touched. Was all of this meant just to be here for anyone that needed it? To never be used until someone found it fitting enough to even bother? Or would it just stay here and go unnoticed forever? Sometimes asking myself questions like this takes my mind off the silence that creeps around me.

_I think some company is overdue_

As I discover more and more discarded territory, I find little objects that stick out. Vases, paintings, posters, some decorations such as fake snow hanging from the more occupied halls that I make sure to avoid. Sometimes I'm surprised I don't get lost in this ginormous building.

More than a few times I stop to notice posters that practically jump from the walls, shouting out to you that there is a bright side of life for everyone. If you want to succeed then you have to try, never give up, things can get better, all the usual crap that I'm past fed up with. I stop on my usual rounds to find one that must of been pinned up years ago.

'There is a chance for everyone'

I glare at it, as if I could make it disappear with a mere look, but the words are still there, bright as ever. And it's a lie. A complete and total /lie/. "What do you know?!" I snap at it, getting closer as if to intimidate it. "No one ever gets a chance in the real world! No one stands a chance at all, let alone have one in this cruel world!" I'm yelling now, as I'm aware that no one can hear me, but I need the truth, and if it can only come from my own mouth then so be it.

_I've started talking to the pictures on the walls_

I make a point to tear it down and rip it to shreds, leaving it on the floor behind me as I walk away. It feels like a deep sense of injustice corrected in my mind, but it doesn't help at all.

One day after "visiting" Bucky, I felt even more discouraged then usual, which would not be stood for. I had to take my mind off it without leaving in some way, and I set off in a direction I'm sure I've never been in before.

Hallway after hallway there are nothing but blank guest rooms and restrooms, sometimes a lounge or two, or maybe a deserted office. It strikes me odd that no one is around here anymore, what with there being so many people needing medical attention these days. But no, the only place actually used is the front of the building, and just barely. Maybe it's a good thing that I stay to myself. Maybe it's not.

_It gets a little lonely, all these empty rooms_

Then I find something that might of saved me. A library. As I push through the big oak doors, I notice shelves among shelves of books, almost all the way up to the ceiling. The center of the room and beyond it are benches and chairs, meant for anyone who needed to study or just read in a quiet place. Pass time. Perfect for someone like me.

As I dissect through the book shelves, ranging from medical journals to science fiction and even romance novels, I find a thick layer of dust coating each one. Finally I grab a few books that hardly look interesting, but will keep me grounded, and I head for the back where I can be sure to stay hidden.

It might of been a few days after that when I noticed a flurry of white falling outside the window, and I frown, closing the shades so that I can ignore it. Winter has come, and I've never been more unprepared.

It's not to hard to ignore, and I don't really have a choice seeing as this is the only room I've found so far with a clock just above the doors. If I stretch a little from my position in my chair, I can see it clear as day.

A clock. It's so coincidental it's almost uncanny. Every now and then I look up from my distractions,to keep track of how many times the arms make a full rotation before its time for me to see him again.

_Just watching the hours tick by..._

* * *

I can't take it anymore. The silence, the emptiness, the waiting, the lies, the pain, the depression, the anxiety.

The memories, the hopelessness. I just can't do it anymore. Once someone actually bothered to find me, they told me I'd been here for over four months. Four months. That had to be enough time by now. I've gone and read almost every book in my safe place, waited all this time just to be there for him.

He had to make an effort too. He had to be better by now, he had to remember something about me. He had better known everything by now or I would seriously have to kick down that fucking door!

A feeling of dread spread through me as I saw the door come into view. This was it. This was really it. I was here, and we were going to see if we could make it through or not. I had done my part, it was time for him to show what he could do.

What he wanted.

I knocked twice. "Bucky, it's me again. It's Steve. I want an answer this time god damn it, Bucky! I know you're in there! Say something!"

_Please, I know you're in there_

"It's been over four months by now and they say you've been making great progress every time I've visited you. Well, I think they're lying. Prove me wrong, Bucky! Open the door and prove me wrong! Go ahead!" The silence is only mere incentive for me to continue. All this time it's been building up inside of me and now that I've let just a little out, there was no stopping it.

"You can't just stay in there forever! There are actual real live people who are affected by this, do you not know that?!"

_People have been asking where you've been..._

"Bucky...please..." I beg, slumping against the door frame. _Come back _"I've waited for you, to help you, and you never come out to even acknowledge it. I've been hoping that you'd get better all this time and nothing. Is. Working."

_They say have courage,_

"I'm not- I won't give up on you, I refuse to."

_And I'm trying to_

"Can't you see that? I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to help!"

_I'm right out here for you_

"Please, Bucky, just open the door... Please..."

_Just let me in_

I fell to the floor, my back pressing into the door behind me. "You're all I have left in this world, Bucky. I'm with you until the end of the line, like we always promised..."

_We only have each other_

"You and I, we're the only ones left. We have to stick together. I'm lost without you, and you don't have anyone else either. You can trust me, please."

_Its just you and me_

Tears are streaming freely down my face now, and before I know it I'm crying. Something I haven't done for a long long time. "Are you just going to give up on me now, Bucky? After all we've been through?"

_What are we going to do?_

"... Do you even care anymore?"

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

For a few heart wrenching minutes I'm left to the cold and unforgiving silence, the only thing disrupting being my own pain. Then suddenly, there's a sound. The small click of a lock being moved out of place.

The door finally opens.


End file.
